Some Cold Rock Stuf

Stones Throw; 2011

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It's kind of unsettling when a record comes right out and says it's going to be difficult-- not just once but repeatedly. Still, sometimes it's necessary, especially when an artist's background carries certain expectations. J.Rocc has spent decades in the turntablist vanguard as part of the Beat Junkies, has an enviable position as Madlib's go-to DJ, and for years has been a regular contributor to Stones Throw and Now-Again. But if you come to his new release, Some Cold Rock Stuf, expecting familiar beat-tape material, virtuosity, or amped-up reworkings of 1970s funk breaks, prepare to be disoriented by a series of warnings: "The secret is not apparent to the casual listener," "I like the quiet moment, and this song is that. If you're not in that sort of a mood then you can always take it off," "If you do not want to hear, other people want to hear."

Some Cold Rock Stuf bumps heavy here and there, and old heads will smile in recognition at the leadoff track ("Rocchead's Delight"), which updates that old De La Soul interstitial, "Cool Breeze on the Rocks". But the slippery thing about this album is that it seems calculated to make your head swim instead of nod. Some Cold Rock Stuf wades through hazy psychedelic ground that resembles introspective, mid-90s trip-hop more than the futurism of contemporary underground West Coast beat-music. If the trippier moments approach the acid-fried fringes of the Gaslamp Killer, they lack his fine-tuned ear for exciting abrasion; if the mud-fidelity loops and international dalliances are simpatico with Madlib, it lacks his idea-shuffling brevity.

That personality deficit would be easier to overlook without some odd sequencing at work. The first track's hyperactive sample montage sinks right into the quicksand of "Don't Sell Your Dream (Tonight)", a woozy amalgamation of parched guitars, wind noises, and codeine drum breaks that threatens to lull the listener into a daze. It's an early transition that's almost as bewildering as the album's wound-down conclusion, "The Truth", an Ambien lurch laced with a weepy, disembodied string loop and ultra-minimalist snares and kickdrums. But the slow start and slower finish belie a somewhat livelier middle section. The Bollywood-tinged "Party", the carnival atmosphere of fuzz/funk/Tropicália splice-job "Play This (Also)", and the vintage b-boy Latin breakbeat of "Too Many Clowns" feel like they were airlifted in from a completely different album to jolt this one out of its stupor. If this record's trying to impart some sort of consistent personality, it's a hard one to grasp.

But hard to grasp isn't necessarily the same as hard to like. And while the uptempo cuts are the most immediate pleasures, even the foggier bits have a way of insinuating themselves into your head. When the bleary-eyed stuff expands into something with a bit more kick, it's easier to appreciate what J.Rocc was shooting for-- slow-building meditations. "Chasing the Sun" starts off as another spaced-out, chant-driven ether frolic-- and then it ratchets up the jitteriness and intensity of the break and integrates a stirring piano loop. And while the re-stitched, sax-driven jazz of "Malcolm Was Here (Part 1+2)" sinks you into a hypnotic swing-beat groove at first, there's a bracing hairpin turn toward tense John Carpenter g-funk in its leftfield second half.

Some Cold Rock Stuf makes more sense as a collection of scattered concept pieces than a unified statement. Prospective buyers who want a potential escape hatch from the feature presentation are treated to a special gimmick thrown in with a physical purchase-- a "mystery disc," one of three randomly-selected EPs containing a handful of unlabeled, untitled bonus cuts. And while that's a fun idea for an extra, it's not like the first disc isn't enigmatic enough.